


Desperate Measure

by beckzorz (heckofabecca)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Not Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Smut, Trapped In A Closet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-10
Updated: 2019-05-10
Packaged: 2020-02-29 12:20:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18778171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heckofabecca/pseuds/beckzorz
Summary: On the run, cornered in a closet—how the hell is Bucky supposed to keep from getting caught?





	Desperate Measure

**Author's Note:**

> Another one-shot for the Hello Spring short story writing challenge on Tumblr! The prompt for this story was 'Hiding in the closet, he/she found…'
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

“Shit shit shit _fuck_ shit!”

“Barnes, can you keep it clean for _one_ minute? We’ve got Parker on the line here!”

“It’s okay, Mr. Stark, I’ve heard worse.”

Bucky growls and slaps his ear, silencing Tony’s reply. Do they really think he’s got time to listen to their awkward back-and-forth while he’s got a squad of goons up his ass?

The sidewalks are busy tonight. He turns a corner and almost bumps into a dopey couple, a clump of frat boys, a lonely woman tapping her foot as she holds her phone to her ear, all in rapid succession. He chances a glance back—no goons in sight. Not yet.

Bucky ducks into the closest open door, fumbling in his pocket for his wallet, his ID, as the bouncer waits with a bored stare.

“Here,” Bucky blurts.

“Great, have fun.”

Bucky ducks inside, assaulted by the uncomfortably loud blues band playing. A trombone, in a bar this size?

Yikes.

He squeezes his way towards the stage at the back of the bar, not daring to look back. The band is so loud, so close, that even he can’t hear if the people coming in are the ones after him. Loud voices clamoring over the band. Good music, really, but the pressure of hiding, of keeping all these civilians out of his trouble is pounding his skull even more than the music.

The song comes to a close, and in the beat before the applause kicks up, he can hear the voice of one of his pursuers.

_Fuck._

He pushes his way through the dancers clustered by the stage, down the back hallway, past the scuffed bathroom doors, and bursts into a closet, pulling the door shut behind him and pressing his ear to the door.

A gasp behind him.

Bucky spins, pistol up, heart racing.

You throw your hands in the air, broom clattering to the ground.

A heavy drumbeat; the band is back on. The yellow bulb overhead sways to the music, sending shifting shadows across your face.

He lowers his gun as he takes you in. Wide, frightened eyes. A t-shirt clinging to every curve, not quite thick enough to hide the floral pattern of your bra. A towel peeking out from behind your hip, tucked into your back pocket.

An employee, then.

A heavy moment passes before you squint. Your mouth drops open, fear melting away.

“You’re—”

“There are people chasing me,” Bucky interrupts, voice low. He tucks his pistol back in the holster under his shirt. He doesn’t miss the way your eyes dart to the skin exposed at his hip, or the way your tongue darts out to wet your lips before his words sink in. You sober.

“You can stay here,” you tell him. You reach for the broom, but Bucky holds up a hand. He puts his ear back to the door, eyes drifting back to you as you step closer.

“Shit,” he mutters. He glances back at you, a million thoughts running through his head, but only one sticks. He has less than a minute before the door bangs open, or someone shoots through it. At him.

At you.

Stuck in a closet with a pretty girl, and he has less than a minute.

Fuck it.

Bucky shrugs off his jacket and shoves it behind the door. It’s the best disguise he can do on such short notice. He grabs your shoulders, stares into your eyes. Your pupils blow up, adrenaline or something else making your pulse pound against your neck.

“Do you trust me?” he whispers.

You curl your hands around his. Swallow. “Of course I do.”

Bucky crushes his mouth to yours, his hands flying from your shoulders to the zipper on your jeans as he walks you back against the wall. You gasp, but all your noises are muffled by his mouth, and for a blissful moment he’s too lost in the soft feel of your lips, the taste of your chapstick, the taste of you—

You push him back, panting.

He breaks away, his hand frozen halfway through unzipping your pants. He doesn’t want to think how he looks, desperate, starving, terrified; if they find him, they find _you_ ; how else can he hide locked in here, but hidden by you?

Maybe it’s the alcohol in the air. Maybe it’s your mouth, your lingerie, your soft lips.

Your eyes are nearly black. The light’s still swinging overhead, shadows still shifting on your inscrutable face.

Bucky swallows. “I—”

You clutch his face and pull his lips back to yours. This time, you don’t gasp. This time, you _moan_. Bucky grabs your thigh, hitches you up the wall; you worm a hand between you and fumble with his fly as he finishes with yours. You break the kiss only to trail your lips across his jaw, down his throat; his skin burns under your mouth, your hands on his shoulders. He can feel your nails digging into his flesh, feel them slide against the metal. Every nerve sings.

A few adjustments, and he’s got your panties pushed aside. You’re wet, but not wet enough; a few careful ministrations do the trick, and then he’s pushing inside you, reason be damned. _Everything_ be damned for the sound of your pretty little whimper as your walls flutter around him. Bucky leans his forehead against the wall, one hand pressed into the wood, the other still hooked under your thigh, digging into that soft flesh as he starts a slow rhythm, half the speed of the music still thrumming heavy in the air. From between his legs, a tingling, pressure building, a need only you can sate.

You reach out and pull his mouth back to yours, this time teasing his mouth open. Tongue, teeth… Bucky doesn’t know exactly when he picks up the pace, but he knows exactly when he pulls your leg a little higher by your stilted moan.

“ _Bu—_ ”

He silences you with a frantic kiss, and that’s when the door bursts open.

You bury Bucky’s face in your shoulder, hand twisted around his hair, disguising its length. You yell incoherently at the men frozen in the doorway. The door clicks shut, footsteps shuffle off, and Bucky lets out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

Neither of you move. Bucky’s still buried in you, and as the seconds tick by, he realizes just what he’s done. He stiffens, and your hands card gently through his hair.

“I trust you,” you murmur.

You turn your head and kiss the shell of his ear, and then you rock your hips just enough to make him groan. Still, he can’t quite move. What the hell was he thinking? Conning some unsuspecting bartender into sex—for what? To hide? He could’ve _run_ , spared you the danger and himself the sudden guilt snaking through him.

You sigh and lower your hands to his shoulders, disrupting his thoughts.

“If you’re not going to finish this, then you might as well go. I have work to do.”

Bucky lifts his head at last. Maybe whatever strange impulse had overtaken him was just… in the air.

“Do you—d’you want me to finish this?” he breathes.

You hold his gaze with your dark eyes as you roll your hips again, tightening your arms and your walls around him.

“Yes. I want.”

It’s all the answer he needs. He eases out, back in, slow and languid as his eyes stay locked on yours. He’s tingling again, hyper-aware of how you feel wrapped around him. He snakes a hand under your shirt, bunching it up over your breasts so he can admire your pretty bra. Pretty, peonies, perfect. His thumb traces the lacy edge, circles until you’re gasping.

This time, he doesn’t stop your mouth when you moan his name. His eyes flutter shut at the wrecked sound of your voice, the stutter in it as you bite back another whimper. Pressure builds again, radiating out, drawing all his focus straight to where you’re clenched around him. He has to—he has to—

Bucky tightens his jaw and stills, ignoring every screaming muscle. You’re not there yet, and damn it all if he’s going to finish first. You mewl in discontent, moving yourself, but Bucky stills you.

“Let me.”

He slides his hand down, down, until he’s back at that same spot where his touch had done such wonders before. Almost too soon, you’re panting, fighting back moans and squeezing down on him harder than ever, hands tugging hard at his hair.

“‘Atta girl,” he murmurs.

“Just— _please_ ,” you whine. You’re glassy-eyed, lips parted and swollen from stolen kisses. Utterly divine.

All the pressure that Bucky’s been suppressing comes back full force. He pushes you higher on the wall and slams home, again and again until he’s sure the wall will break. But it holds, and so does he until you cry out, shuddering, head tipped back and hands flying to your breasts, with only Bucky’s hands on your thigh and between your legs holding you up.

The sight of you so wanton, so _brazen_ , yellow light dancing along your red lips, your nails against your lacy bra, is enough. Bucky pulls out just as that throbbing need starts to bleed into release, muscles clenching, hands uncurling from you to grab himself. You drop to your knees, slapping his hand away, and close your mouth and hands around him.

Your lips, your touch end it. Bucky slams his hands against the wall, moaning through the delicious release, eyes cracked open just enough to catch you looking up at him, eyes watering and lips stretched wide, throat bobbing with rapid swallows. All he feels is your mouth as jolts of pleasure racket through him. All he sees are your eyes.

“God,” he rasps. He reaches down, strokes your face as best he can as he comes down from his high.

You draw back with a pop, licking your lips and looking with some consternation at the sticky mess on your fingers.

Bucky blinks the last of the stars in his vision away. He sinks down beside you, catching your face in his hands and pressing another kiss to those beautiful lips, salty now. You hum, content, pressing the back of your hand to his chest before drawing away with a nervous giggle.

“What?” he asks.

You shrug, hands still held awkwardly in front of you. Bucky tugs a handkerchief out of his pocket and offers it to you, but it only makes you laugh more. You take it, at least, and wipe your hands as best you can. Bucky takes the opportunity to tuck himself back into his pants.

“Thank you,” you tell him.

“Anytime,” he says.

You tilt your head, consider him. “Mean it?”

Bucky traces your lips. Your eyes slide closed as you lean into his touch.

“I could do with a name. Maybe even a phone number,” he muses, and you giggle again, winding your arms around his neck. The sound of your laughter fills him with delight, and he can’t help but kiss you again.

“I can probably divulge that information,” you say, but the smile flickering on your face is still a hint uncertain. “Do you really mean it?”

Bucky presses his forehead to yours, nodding.

“I mean it.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked it! Let me know what you think! xoxo


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